Tomatis Dream Diary

Sunday, May 20th, 2001, Listening Centre, Toronto 

Dreamt last night that I sang in an opera. I was on a balcony of some sort when I saw a woman—smack in the middle of the show—hold up a sign to tell me that I should sing a line of farewell to the older gentleman sitting on my left.

And I did just that in the dream. Mind you, when I went to the Listening Centre in Toronto for my second visit in May of 2001, I'd already had some curious dreams during my first visit in November of the previous year, one of them where I dreamt of gum coming out of my left nostril. Of course, it doesn't take an Einstein to figure out what I was working through in both dreams if you know something of the perspective of Tomatis, which was that my right ear was turning on, and I was letting go of using my left ear as the dominant ear. For a guy who went to the Listening Centre, only to find that he was mixed-dominant, it makes perfect sense. 

The older gentleman on the left? He's the editor and critic who holds a dissertation on the meaning of "no" in his hand, and never stops yammering words of warning like a bad director who can only tell you what not to do. Give him the run of the house, and he'll stop you from leaving the house, taking risks, or writing blogs or books. Oh, he has his place all right, which is something akin to a curator, but he can never take the place of the guy (or gal) on the right, who lives in the present rather than the past, says yes to life, creates stuff, connects the dots in your head, and sings like nobody's business with full-open-throated, ringing tone.